Authors: Lexi George Kathy Love,Angie Fox
A Demonic Bundle (3 page)
Finally Charlie came to the heart of
HOT!
—the inner sanctum. Finola White’s offices. Charlie hated to reference
The Wizard of Oz
again, but he did feel like he was approaching the great and powerful Oz. He glanced at Elton, who lingered even farther behind him, his hazy gaze guarded, his stance rigid.
HOT!
—the inner sanctum. Finola White’s offices. Charlie hated to reference
The Wizard of Oz
again, but he did feel like he was approaching the great and powerful Oz. He glanced at Elton, who lingered even farther behind him, his hazy gaze guarded, his stance rigid.
He was tempted to hum the tune of “If I Only Had a Brain,” substituting the words, “If I only had a personality.”
Then Charlie dismissed his coworker’s behavior. Being on this floor was too incredible to focus on Elton.
Finola’s wing—and that was really what it was—was huge. The walls were made of glass, giving this section of the offices a strange endless feeling, like a mind-boggling maze. A labyrinth, stylish and elaborate, that clearly separated the company’s owner from the rest of her staff. He could see a large meeting room with a circular white table surrounded by high-back red velvet chairs that still managed to look minimalistic despite their oversized design and luxurious fabric.
Next to that was another office with more glass and shiny metal and beyond that, lost in a sea of glass walls and chrome, he caught flashes of what must be Ms. White’s office. He could make out gleaming white—white furniture, wispy white drapes, white carpeting.
Finola was known for her affinity for white. It had become part of her image . . . to match her name and her fair, almost albino, coloring. All an image designed to make an impact.
But as he approached those glass rooms, it became clear he wasn’t going to set foot in her private lair. Instead he was stopped by a woman seated behind a huge glass desk that matched the receptionist’s desk back in the main lobby.
“You are not allowed back there. I’ll take the mail,” she said, standing as she spoke.
Charlie frowned, focusing on the woman, who was more than likely Ms. White’s secretary or personal assistant. He blinked, his eyes not seeming to adjust—as if he’d been looking at the sun and now was trying to see details in the shadows.
She was not at all what Charlie would have imagined of Finola’s personal assistant. Though dressed in clearly expensive clothes, she appeared mousy in her simple black turtleneck and pencil skirt. He blinked, realizing a strange, hazy halo of pale yellowish light seemed to outline her whole form. But when he focused on her again, it was gone.
Yeah, the lighting in here was really messing with his eyes.
But what dazed Charlie more than the optical illusions was the woman’s warm tone as she spoke to Elton. “How are you today, Elton?”
“Not too bad, Annie. Not bad,” he answered, his voice almost friendly.
“Your gout is better?”
“Oh, much better.”
“That’s good, Elton.” Annie smiled, but then her expression grew serious. “Any word from Sheila?”
Elton shook his head, his near smile fading. “No. I’m afraid we’re all thinking the worst.”
Who was Sheila?
The woman, whose desk plaque read Annie Riddle, shook her head too, clearly distressed. “I just don’t see how she could have disappeared without a trace.”
Elton didn’t respond, except to purse his lips, but Charlie got the impression he wanted to say more.
Who on earth were they talking about? Was it one of Elton’s family members? It was clearly someone they both knew. Had this Sheila worked here?
But before Charlie could inquire, the glass double doors burst open, followed by two women, their voices raised in anger.
“I made you. And I can just as easily get rid . . . end your career.”
“This isn’t what I wanted! I never agreed to this!”
“Oh yes, you did. You wanted it more than your very soul.”
Charlie gaped at the two women, first stunned by their sudden, raucous appearance, then stunned literally by who they were.
The woman telling the other that she could make and break her was Finola White. And he couldn’t help but stare.
She was even more striking in real life than in the photos and television interviews he’d seen. Nearly six feet tall with long, blond hair that was so pale it was almost white. Her skin was so pale it looked almost translucent, as if made of perfectly constructed rice paper. No freckles or moles or even a hint of rosiness to her cheeks—nothing to mar the perfect alabaster. Her eyes were gray, the color of an overcast sky at midday. And her lips, the only vibrant color in her features, were ruby red, the exact color of the velvet of her furniture.
She looked almost . . . unreal . . . fantastical. Like a creature from a fairy tale.
“Do you hear me?” Her voice was unbelievably sexy and utterly cold at the same time.
Charlie’s attention shifted from Finola to the person who was receiving her harsh diatribe.
Instantly he recognized that woman too. And while Finola amazed and wowed him, this woman made his whole body react, and hum to life.
Ava Wells, the most famous and sought after model in the industry today. The absolute definition of supermodel. Just as Finola was more striking in real life than in photos, Ava was also a surprise. She was as lovely as in her photographs, but much more accessible than he would have imagined.
As tall as Finola, Ava didn’t have the icy beauty of her boss. Instead her skin shone like warm honey and her lush dark hair glittered with hints of ginger and mahogany. Her lips were full and her eyes dark and soulful. She was hot, raw emotion, while Finola was cold, untouchable restraint.
He had always considered Ava Wells stunning and amazingly photogenic, but he’d never considered her his type. Not until this moment. Very clearly his body thought otherwise. Every one of his nerve endings tingled with awareness of her.
The women glared at each other, but finally Ava broke their challenging stare, looking away.
“Yes, Finola,” she said, all the anger fading from her voice as if Finola’s ice had doused her fire.
“Good,” Finola said, her lips twisting—smug and petulant at the same time. She then glanced at her assistant. “Do you plan to just stand there staring, or are you going to do some work?”
Annie scrambled to gather up a clipboard and pen. Then she hurried out from behind the desk. On her way past him, she snatched the stack of envelopes he still held, forgotten, in his hands. He noticed that she barely looked at him as she did so. Then she followed her clearly demanding boss back into the glass maze.
All three watched them leave as if too stunned by the events of the last few minutes to react.
After long seconds, Ava gathered herself and turned to leave. For the first time, she seemed to realize that Charlie and Elton stood there.
Her dark eyes flicked over Elton first, then shifted to Charlie, and to his surprise, lingered.
Her cheeks grew rosy pink and her gaze dropped to the floor. She mumbled something that he could barely hear. An apology.
For what?
On long, shapely legs, she moved around them and disappeared back into the main offices of the fifteenth floor.
Charlie stood still, shocked by everything he’d seen in this little waiting area. But of all the things he’d seen and heard, it was the crushed look on Ava’s face as she hurried away that stuck in his mind.
Of course, it had to be a little embarrassing to get a dressing down from
the
Ms. White in front of the lowly mailroom staff—but she
was
Ava Wells and they were—well, the lowly mailroom staff. Everyone knew Finola White’s reputation of being very hard to please, so Ava hardly had reason to feel ashamed. Frustrated, irritated, riled maybe, but she’d clearly been humiliated. And Charlie had seen something else on her face . . . something deeper. A sort of hopelessness.
the
Ms. White in front of the lowly mailroom staff—but she
was
Ava Wells and they were—well, the lowly mailroom staff. Everyone knew Finola White’s reputation of being very hard to please, so Ava hardly had reason to feel ashamed. Frustrated, irritated, riled maybe, but she’d clearly been humiliated. And Charlie had seen something else on her face . . . something deeper. A sort of hopelessness.
“Come on,” Elton said from beside him. “I can’t stomach all this depravity and ugliness.”
As Charlie followed him back to the elevators, he considered Elton’s word choices. He didn’t understand what had been so depraved—he supposed the fashion industry itself could be seen that way. Especially by someone like Elton, who clearly did not appreciate this world.
But ugliness? He supposed he had seen some of that too. Finola had been very harsh with Ava, but that wasn’t surprising, really. Everyone knew Finola had discovered Ava, at some restaurant the rumors said, and pulled her from obscurity to modeling stardom. Finola obviously thought Ava owed her.
As far as Charlie could see, that was the only ugliness they’d witnessed on the fifteenth floor. This was a world based on beauty. Ugliness just didn’t seem to fit.
But as they passed the front desk, he remembered how the receptionist’s features had seemed to morph and distort.
It’s just the lighting, he repeated to himself as he entered the elevator. This was a beautiful world and he wanted to be part of it.
Chapter Three
“H
ey Charlie.”
ey Charlie.”
Charlie looked over his shoulder as he hung his work smock in his locker to see Innocuous Dave in the break room doorway.
“Eugene wants to see you before you go.”
Charlie fought back an annoyed groan and nodded.
He grabbed his backpack and hoped this chat wouldn’t be as long as one of Dave’s. He was ready to head home and go through his portfolio to make sure, when the time was right, it was ready to be presented.
He walked to Eugene’s office only to find that Elton was with him. Treading carefully, he moved closer to the door, interested in what Elton would say about Charlie’s work today.
Charlie smiled to himself again as he remembered the older man’s comments. He supposed the mailroom rivaled the
HOT!
staff for drama.
HOT!
staff for drama.
“He definitely saw things,” Elton said. “A few times I was certain of it.”
Charlie’s smile faded to a frown. Were they talking about him?
“So he can do that job?”
“Yes, I think he can. I think he’s more talented than Sheila was.”
Eugene snorted. “That’s a big statement.”
“I know.”
Charlie listened, still not sure they were talking about him. But who else? And they were mentioning this Sheila again.
“Charlie?” Eugene called, startling him. “Is that you?”
Charlie straightened, but stepped away from his spot just outside of Eugene’s office door.
“Yeah.” Charlie managed to keep his voice casual. “Dave said you wanted to talk to me.”
“Yes, I need you to bring this up to the fifteenth floor before you leave for the day.” Eugene held out a manila envelope.
Back to the fifteenth floor without Elton in tow—Charlie wasn’t going to turn that down. His curiosity about what the two men were discussing, even working on his portfolio, could wait.
“Sure.” Charlie accepted the missive without hesitation.
Oh yeah, he’d love to go back up to the fifteenth floor. Not to mention he might see Ava Wells again. A long shot, but it couldn’t hurt to hope.
He hadn’t been able to get her beautiful face out of his mind. Or the desperation in her eyes. She wouldn’t still be around, he was sure. But going up and looking around couldn’t hurt.
Once on the elevator, Charlie glanced at the envelope. It was handwritten with only the name of the recipient and the office number.
Carrie Hall, Room 1520
.
.
Charlie knew exactly who Carrie Hall was. The head of
HOT!
’s art department and his second choice to sneak his portfolio to. After Finola, of course.
HOT!
’s art department and his second choice to sneak his portfolio to. After Finola, of course.
But then again, after meeting—okay,
seeing
the great Finola White today—maybe he should go with Ms. Hall. She hadn’t been in her office earlier when he’d dropped off her mail, but there was no way she could be any more intimidating than Ms. White.
seeing
the great Finola White today—maybe he should go with Ms. Hall. She hadn’t been in her office earlier when he’d dropped off her mail, but there was no way she could be any more intimidating than Ms. White.
He looked down at the envelope again. He wondered who had sent it, and why via the mailroom. He didn’t know for sure, but he imagined that all intercompany correspondence was handled by secretaries and assistants.
The elevator shuddered to a stop, and he stepped back into the amazing splendor of
HOT!
A different receptionist sat at the lobby desk. She was not as gorgeous as the first, more a pretty girl-next-door type, and unlike the daytime receptionist, she acknowledged him.
HOT!
A different receptionist sat at the lobby desk. She was not as gorgeous as the first, more a pretty girl-next-door type, and unlike the daytime receptionist, she acknowledged him.
“Sorry, we are closed for the day.”
Charlie glanced down at himself, realizing he no longer wore his awful, royal blue, mailroom smock. Nor did he have his ID.
Crap.
So instead he held up the manila envelope. “I’m from the mailroom. I’m supposed to deliver this to Carrie Hall.”
The receptionist frowned, and for a moment, she was clearly unsure what to do. Maybe she was new. He watched her as she debated, squinting slightly as the same kind of hazy, yellow aura appeared around her as he’d seen around Finola’s assistant. He narrowed his eyes more; it
had
to be some strange effect of the lighting in the lobby areas. It was the only thing that made sense.
had
to be some strange effect of the lighting in the lobby areas. It was the only thing that made sense.
Then Elton’s voice echoed in his head.
He definitely saw things.
He definitely saw things.
Had he been talking about this strange optical hallucination? But how would Elton even know what he’d seen? Charlie hadn’t mentioned anything. He hadn’t even commented on the lighting.
Just then, the phone rang, startling both him and the new receptionist.
After a few moments and several “yeses” and “of courses,” she hung up the phone.
“That was Ms. Hall. She is expecting you. Please go on back.” The receptionist tilted her head toward the door.
Charlie didn’t hesitate, figuring he’d better take the entrance while it was offered. But as he stepped through the frosted glass double doors, he wondered how Ms. Hall had known he was there.
Then he chuckled to himself. She’d obviously known he was on his way up because either she’d requested the materials in the envelope or Eugene had contacted her to tell her Charlie was coming.
Yeah, time to cool it with the crazy suspicions. He was reading way too much into everything, making even the simplest happenings seem somehow a weird conspiracy. Too much time down in the underworld of the mailroom, obviously.
He made his way through the red hallways to Ms. Hall’s office and knocked.
“Come in.”
Charlie carefully turned the doorknob and poked his head inside the office. Ms. Hall leaned over a light table, peering through a magnifying loupe at several sheets of negatives spread out in front of her.
“Ms. Hall, I’m here with an envelope for you.”
She stood immediately, the loupe forgotten in her hand. Instead of reaching for the envelope, or showing any interest in it whatsoever, she studied him from behind a pair of stylish dark-rimmed glasses.
In fact, she regarded him for such a long time, he actually shifted from one foot to the other, feeling like a misbehaving schoolboy called to the principal’s office. Of course, how he’d misbehaved was a mystery to him. He was again reminded of the conversation he’d overheard between Eugene and Elton.
Finally, Carrie offered him a slight smile, as if somehow he’d passed the same criteria for approval that he had with Eugene.
“Thanks, Charlie,” she said, accepting the eight-by-ten manila envelope. “It is Charlie, right?”
“Yes.”
She nodded, her thick auburn curls bouncing around her pixyish face. Intelligence crackled in her eyes and Charlie got the feeling not much slipped past her. Which was why, of course, she was the art director. Attention to detail.
Charlie nodded his good-bye, then headed back through the desks and cubicles toward the main lobby. Many employees were still working even though it was well past the time he’d normally leave for the day. But of course the people up here worked to meet deadlines, not to punch a time clock. And the magazine had to be ready and perfect, no matter how long the hours.
An employee carrying several bolts of fabric samples staggered past him. Dark purplish circles stood out under the man’s eyes, and his complexion was sallow, as if he hadn’t seen the sun or felt fresh air in weeks. And again Charlie got the impression of a yellow halo around him, but he ignored it.
Maybe he should look into getting his eyes checked.
Just then a tall, lithe figure with a mane of rich mahogany hair appeared in his peripheral vision, as if to prove to him that his eyesight was just fine. The person turned a corner to disappear down an adjoining hallway.
Ava. There was no missing her lovely form and graceful walk.
Charlie didn’t even consider whether he should follow or not; he simply moved in that direction as if she was the moon, mysterious and beautiful, drawing him to her like an ocean tide.
As he turned the corner, he was surprised to find a set of utilitarian gray doors that looked almost startlingly stark and colorless when compared to the flash of the rest of the office.
Would she really go down here?
He placed a hand on one of the doors, trepidation giving him pause. Not because he didn’t feel that he should be following Ava, which would be a sane reason, but because he felt almost as if when he went through those doors he would see something forbidden.
Shaking his head, he laughed slightly. When had he become so cloak and dagger himself? What could he possibly discover beyond these unmarked, gray doors? A stunningly gorgeous supermodel?
Save me now.
He pushed open one metal door and stepped into a hallway. He glanced behind him as the door clicked shut, the sound echoing down the glaringly white hallway with its harsh, fluorescent lighting.
This was the janitorial section of the office, he realized as he walked farther into the austere corridor. More gray doors dotted the walls, some with signs revealing a trash room or janitor’s closet. Others were unmarked.
What on earth would Ava Wells be doing back here?
For a moment, Charlie even questioned whether she had really come down here. The hallway was empty. Silent. Where would she have gone?
He glanced over his shoulder, debating leaving. But instead he wandered farther down the hallway, realizing a freight elevator was at the very end. Maybe she’d taken the elevator for some reason. But whatever her reason, she was gone now.
He turned around, heading back to the offices, when he heard a noise. A noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper. He paused. The hallway had fallen silent again. So silent he wondered if he’d just imagined the odd noise. He waited a moment longer, then decided he must have.
Great, first his eyesight. Now his hearing.
He took one step, and heard the noise again. This time closer. He looked around, realizing whatever the strange noise was, it was emanating from the gray door marked with a sign, George Ramirez, head janitor.
Charlie moved over to the door, leaning forward to listen. Inside, he heard something that sounded almost like . . . crinkling plastic? Then that desperate whimpering moan.
Without further thought, he grabbed the knob and shoved the door open. He gaped as he discovered exactly where Ava Wells was.
She sat on the bare concrete floor, her already short skirt hiked even higher to reveal more of her beautiful, supple thighs. Scattered all around her was the evidence of her pleasure, and on her fingers were smears of something white and creamy.
Neither spoke; they just stared at each other.
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